


Bending the Knee

by geoface11



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: 16+, 18+, BoyxBoy, Cave, Funny, M/M, Sexy, Snow, dragon - Freeform, kiss, pisstake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-18
Updated: 2020-05-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:53:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24254683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geoface11/pseuds/geoface11
Summary: Viserys has conquered the east. Now it is his turn to reap the rewards of home. But on the beaches of Dragonstone awaits a dark-haired stranger. Are his rugged looks, mysterious charm and deep black eyes too much for Viserys to resist?
Relationships: Jon Snow/Viserys Targaryen
Comments: 6
Kudos: 30





	Bending the Knee

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Glidus](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Glidus).



> THIS IS NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY.  
> I do not actually ship Jon and Viserys, this is just a piss-take meant to be laughed at.
> 
> I love you Glidus

The Seven Kingdoms smelled nothing like Meereen.

Viserys Targaryen stood at the forecastle of his great ship, his red and black sails shimmering like blood and dragonglass in the salty wind. Violet eyes scanned the shores of Dragonstone as his dragons whirled ahead. He’d named them Snap, Crackle and Pop, after his favourite cereal. Crackle was his favourite; black and red like his banner, a bloody and gnarly beast now twenty metres long. He smiled to himself as the ship approached.

A weary Varys stood to his left, Tyrion the dwarf to his right. “Welcome home, my king,” Varys purred.

The ships docked without fuss. Viserys didn’t expect much else. Today was going to be his day, and it was going to be perfect. The first step to the throne. He only imagined there to be three steps: seize Dragonstone; burn King’s Landing; take the Iron Throne. Nothing could stand in his way.

But then he saw the dark man on the beach.

Viserys sauntered off his boat, his men walking behind him like children. The man who stood to greet him was of his height; clad in black from head to toe, he had a scar upon his brow and lips fuller than his sister’s. His matted black hair was tied back and a gangly beard embraced his chin. He looked strong, with broad shoulders and thick arms, but his face seemed pouty. He looked pained, like someone had slapped him, or like it hurt him to think. Viserys was taken aback. The man was beautiful.

He lifted his chin at him. “And who might you be?” he asked in his most authoritative voice; for some reason, he really wanted to impress this man.

His voice was foreign, and sexy. As sexy as the rest of him. “Jon Snow,” the dark man said.

Varys slipped in beside the pair. “Jon is a man of the Night’s Watch,” he explained.

“ _Was_ ,” said Jon. “I was a man of the Night’s Watch. Before they . . . ” He caught himself before he said too much.

Viserys's eyes gleamed. _Mysterious, this one._ Suddenly he was very interested in this Jon Snow. He wanted to know more. A _lot_ more. His gaze ran down Jon’s body.

“I’m King in the North now,” Jon added, as if he’d just remembered. 

_King?_ Viserys was shocked, but he had to play it cool. “Well, _Jon Snow,_ ” he said. His voice had turned from authoritative to silky smooth. “Have you come to bend the knee to your _rightful_ king?”

Jon shuffled uneasily. “No,” he admitted.

“Then why are you here?” Normally anyone who defied Viserys would receive their end through Crackle, or Snap. He _hated_ being told no. More than anything else in the world. When his bitch sister and her stinky husband had told him no he killed them both, and their little kid too. _And good riddance_ , he said to himself every night. But there was something about Jon; he just couldn’t bring himself to anger. Not like he normally did.

The wind blew through Viserys’s silken white hair, making it dance. Jon looked at it; Viserys liked that. They shared an awkward beat, staring at one another.

Jon cleared his throat. “I’ve come to make an alliance,” he announced.

“Oh?” Viserys didn’t mind the sound of that. He bit his lip as he looked Jon over again. “Well, that’s certainly a matter to discuss later, when I’ve taken my seat here. Please, would you . . . ” He suggested his new friend up the steps to Dragonstone.

Jon shrugged lightly and followed. The two climbed side-by-side up the stairs. Behind them, Tyrion and Varys shared bemused looks.

Viserys was bemused himself. What was he doing? This was not how he acted. When he met people who did not bend the knee he burned them alive, took their cities, raped their wives, sold their children. He did not invite them to climb the steps with him. He was not kind, nor courteous. Especially since Jon called himself _king_ . . . but no matter how hard he tried, Viserys could not find it in him to hurt him. The thought of Jon’s eyes filling with fear, with dread . . . Normally that would excite him, arouse him even, but he couldn’t help but feel horrible about the idea. He wanted to slap himself. A dragon does not say _please_. A dragon does not _blush_. Yet when he looked at Jon, he just . . .

“Has your voyage been tough, my lord?” asked Jon. It stung Viserys to hear him say _lord,_ but at the same time, just being addressed by Jon was enough to give him a chill.

“No, no,” was all he managed to say. He kept climbing. “I had many comforts on the ship. Plenty of food, weapons, girls . . . ”

He wanted Jon to press further, to ask him about the girls he bedded — or at least _said_ he bedded — but Jon only nodded feebly. Viserys scratched at his ear. “What of yourself, Lord Snow?”

Jon shrugged again. “I cannot complain.”

Pop soared through the air above them, emerald wings sparkling in the sunlight. Jon ducked his head, frightened, and clung onto Viserys’s half-cape like a child. Viserys let out a roar of laughter. “Never seen dragons before, Lord Snow?”

“No,” Jon said, quivering.

“They shan’t hurt you,” said Viserys. “Not as long as they know I like you.”

Jon gave him a look, then hid half a smile. It sent Viserys’s insides into a whirl.

The rest of the day went by in a blur. Viserys damned Jon for being so striking; he had matters of import to discuss throughout the day, but all he could think of were those deep dark eyes, that sultry black beard, the scar that told him he'd seen war . . . _Damn it all!_ thought Viserys, sitting on the throne. _He has no right being that fair._

He and Jon spoke of the proposed alliance. Jon refused to bend the knee, however, and even had the gall of reminding him that Viserys’s father burned his relatives alive. That was one of Viserys’s favourite stories, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Jon that. He almost apologised, but even Jon couldn’t make him do such a thing. So the argument was still in the air about alliances.

Before long the sun was setting. Below him, he saw hints of confusion in the dwarf’s eyes; Viserys knew what Tyrion was wondering. Why was he being such a fair king this day? Viserys knew the answer, but he was not going to let his hand know that. Nor anyone else. Apart from Jon.

Viserys stood up from his throne, black silks dancing. “Jon Snow,” he called. Jon was standing at the back of the room, arms folded, soaking in the scene before him like some seductive shadow. He pricked up at his name being called. “Will you be sharing a chamber with us tonight?”

Jon dipped his head. “If it is no trouble of yours,” he said. This thrilled Viserys.

“We shall give you one of our finest,” he stated. “Whichever we can find. Hand.”

Tyrion waddled up to the throne, submissive as always. When he met him, Tyrion Lannister had been sharp as a tack and the wittiest man in Westeros, but of late he was growing duller. Viserys did not know why. “Demand Grey Worm find the best comforts for Jon. I am going to demand he walks with me, so you’ll have ample time.”

Tyrion nodded and waddled back down.

“Lord Snow,” Viserys beckoned again. “We have had much to talk about this afternoon. Allegiances and relatives and history. I’ve grown weary. Will you share a walk with me?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Outside the sun had fled, leaving a dark, starry night in its wake. Grey clouds bobbed in the sky. The waves crashed upon the shore like watery giants, angry and relentless, and the salt wind swept over the pair enticingly. Viserys peered at Jon, soaking in the sight of him.

“What will it take for you to bend the knee?” asked Viserys as they walked.

Jon’s cloak flapped restlessly in the night. A torch danced red and yellow in his grip. “When you mount your armies against the true enemy,” he said. Viserys loved the way he talked. Moody, brooding; Jon had an agenda, and he wanted to know what it was.

Yet this talk of the Long Night bored him. “I've heard tales of those who walk the night,” he said. “Stories of white beasts with blue eyes, summoning the dead to rise. But that’s what they are, Jon. Stories. White walkers have not been seen for thousands of years.”

Jon clenched his rough jaw. “You were not there,” he said gloomily. “I have seen them, Viserys.” Then he unsheathed his sword hand, showing a scarred and mangled mess. Shocked, Viserys peered at it. “I burned one, years and years ago,” Jon explained. He clenched his hand, stretching out the fingers. “I saved Joer Mormont from it.”

“Jorah’s father?” Viserys was surprised.

Jon nodded. “This is a daily reminder of the dead that lurk in the North. I’ve seen much worse since.”

Viserys pouted, pondering. Their feet carried them over Dragonstone, eventually guiding them to a cliff face. “I have more important matters than dead men, Lord Snow,” he said.

“If you don’t kill these dead men,” said Jon, “you’ll be ruling over a graveyard.”

_That was what I wanted in the first place._

Suddenly the cliff face had opened; they stood before a passageway, heading deep into the rock. Jon and Viserys looked at one another, their faces flickering warmly under the torch. Without a word, they let their curiosity drive them forward.

The cave was small, narrow, hardly room for four people. They had to squeeze close if they were to make it through. When Jon brushed against him, Viserys’s heart pounded. At one point the flame got too close to his face and Jon yanked the torch back. “Sorry,” he murmured.

“Don’t be,” said Viserys. “I am blood of the dragon. Fire does not frighten me.”

Jon looked at him and smiled, impressed.

“I’ve spent all my life listening to the tales of the Targaryens,” said the northman. They were standing in a wider part of the cave, side by side, white and black. “About Aegon the Conqueror and his sister wives. About how he burned his enemies to ash.”

Pride seeped through Viserys’s veins. “I wish to be Aegon come again,” he said.

“Only I hope you will spare the bloodshed,” said Jon.

Viserys looked at him. Did Jon not know who he was? “I have pillaged every city I have come across,” he said.

Jon frowned lightly. “So I’ve heard. I just . . . Westeros has seen too much. I lost two brothers to it, Viserys. You lost a brother as well, and a sister. Do you mourn them?”

“Not Daenerys,” said Viserys defiantly. “Although there isn’t a day that passes that I don’t miss Rhaegar. I knew him little, but I dreamed of becoming him someday.”

Jon seemed to understand. “When Robb struck out against his enemies, I was determined to go with him. Only my black brothers convinced me otherwise. It was not my war, but when they killed him . . . I felt so helpless.

“I fought my own wars. I won some too, but . . . ” Jon sighed. “I thought they would make up for it, but they didn’t.”

Since that morning Jon had been cold as stone and harder than steel. Not a single crack showed in his fair facade. But now, in the dim glow of a torch in a cave, he was showing his vulnerability. Viserys felt his heart ache, he felt his loins stir; he wanted Jon, he realised. And soon.

“I will burn those who killed your brother,” vowed Viserys. “With fire and blood, I will take their lands, and you will rebuild from the ashes.” He took a step closer to Jon Snow. “Name a city after your brothers if you wish, Jon. Cast your name for all to see. You will be a fair lord.” He slithered even closer; now he and Jon stood not an inch apart, breaths mingling. Viserys stared into his eyes, into these deep black pools, and Jon stared right back. Lips barely apart, Viserys said, without thinking, “Hand of the King, King in the North, whichever you like, you will have it. If you bend the knee I will let you be the man you want.” Viserys was hardly thinking; he’d lost himself in Jon’s stare, in his sex; his manhood pressed hard against his breeches, it was as if Snow had put him in a trance, dooming him to a whirlwind of lust and admiration. King in the North? Was that what he’d just said?

He couldn’t know for certain. Jon had pressed his lips upon him, and Viserys was gone.

Jon's lips were sweeter than anything he could have wished for. A tingling, airy sensation filled him from head to toe, and he left himself slipping under the northman's touch.

Jon pulled back for a moment, only to set down the torch. Viserys put his hands to Jon's cheeks as they kissed again, and he felt something stir in Jon's pants too.

Breathing hotly, Viserys moved his hand to Jon's breeches, unable to stop himself. The blood of the dragon bubbled lustfully inside him; he was going to have this man, and he was going to have him now. Jon's manhood was as stiff as his was, roaring like a beast beneath the cloth. Viserys was excited. He glanced at Jon for permission, hardly believing himself for doing so, but he did, he asked, and Jon nodded, and then he was undoing the laces of his breeches.

Jon's cock sprung free, an entanglement of coarse black hair and warm, pale skin. Viserys let out a shuddered, pleased breath. Jon shifted a little, uncomfortable. Viserys somehow found it within himself to care. He asked, "Do you want to?"

Jon paused, looking at his exposed, hard manhood. "I just . . . " he whispered, "I've never done it with a man before."

Viserys smiled weakly. "Nor have I."

Then Jon raised his doe-like eyes. Without a word he slowly leant in again, this time kissing Viserys with a tenderness he'd never felt before. No whore had ever done it like this. No whore had ever had a cock either, but this was much different. Too different. Much more different than the matter of cock or cunt. It wasn't love, it wasn't, it couldn't have been. Viserys hardly knew the man. But still something stirred inside him. The only question remained; could it share room with the dragon?

Jon slid his hands onto Viserys's shoulders, unclipping his silk cloak and letting it fall to the ground. He undressed the king, and undressed him kindly. Away fell coat, vest, shirt, undershirt, belt and dagger and brooch. The coldness of the night bit Viserys angrily, but he did not mind. The blood of the dragon was hot, and Jon was as well.

They continued to kiss, until Viserys had the instinctual feeling to kneel. He hated himself for it. Viserys _never_ knelt. Jon was supposed to be the one who was kneeling. But he couldn't help it. Jon's cock drew him closer, and Viserys kissed his neck, then his shoulders, then his chest, his stomach, his coarse black hair. Then he took him in his mouth, and Jon let out a soft moan.

_No one must ever know_ , thought Viserys. Jon slid a few fingers under his white mane, murmuring in pleasure. _Damn this Jon Snow._ Shame seeped through him, but the pleasure was stronger. Was the dragon losing? He hoped not. He hoped that he had not found his weakness in Jon Snow. Yet his cock tasted sweet, his seed even sweeter. Viserys wiped at his mouth when they were done.

He was ready to kill Snow. He was. He was going to seize the dagger from his fallen belt and drive it into his throat, and their lustful, tasteless secret would die with him. But when he returned to meet him, he melted in Jon's eyes. And any shame, hatred, guilt, or fury subsided in the gaze of the northman.

"Now will you bend the knee?" asked Viserys.

"Only because you have," said Jon.


End file.
